


bloody feet across the hallow'd ground

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon Era, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Eren tries hard enough, he can convince himself that it's meat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bloody feet across the hallow'd ground

**II. pure as a wedding dress**

Eren supposes it's something like paper, thin and pliant beneath his hands. It wrinkles when he yanks roughly to the side, red tendons stretching up and twisting so violently he thinks they'll snap. They are thick and stringy, covered and coated with bits of flesh and gristle. If he concentrates hard enough, he can convince himself that it's meat. But the scent is too thick and sweet and _pure_ to be meat, and he knows better.

Eren supposes someone is screaming, loud as battle in his ear, and so he pulls harder, watching it slip off ( _what_ \-- he doesn't know _what_ but he's pulling) with a sick, wet sound that drowns out the noise. He can only describe it as satisfactory, and _nothing_ can compare to this, not even flying, not battles with the maneuver gear as his wings. It's something  he can only describe as free, which is utterly ironic because it's anything _but._

Eren digs his nails in and meets no resistance. It's soft and wet, squelching as he pushes his hand in and _pulls._ The stretch is fascinating, elongated and strained like a taut thread, like the scream that _won't fucking stop._ He lets go and something slips through his fingers, chunks and bits so magnificently _warm._ He reaches forward again--( _and the air is like paper, thin and resistant, nothing but splotch beneath his Titan hands_ )--and squeezes, feeling a sensation rip up and down his arm past the thick skin when he does. The screaming stops and the silence is infinite, expanding with the red starlight and puppet-string tendons at his fingertips.

The scent is wonderful, rich and full as the stars, but it's nothing compared to the taste, sweet and thick and heavy on his tongue, and he supposes if he cannot see the ocean then this will be--and when he swallows, the sky of flesh of bone in his stomach, he knows it will _never_ be--enough, an ocean of red that paints his fingertips and lips and teeth.

And when the sky fades to the forest and little rusting tin soldiers around him, he looks down at his hands and realizes something is very, _very_ wrong (and maybe it's them because toy soldiers aren't supposed to star at him like that--like he's--)

He isn't even aware there's pieces of skin ( _pliant like paper_ ) and muscle and bone ( _sweet as sugar, thick as honey_ ) and something blue and beautiful and _blueblueblue like the water and sky and Armin's eyes_ on his fingers until they're in his mouth, crunching beneath his teeth.

And he is suddenly sick to his stomach, something vile and sour like vomit rising in his throat--not because he's horrified, but because he _isn't._

Eren swallows. 


End file.
